


my god, this reminds me (of when we were young)

by ifthebookdoesntsell



Category: The Prom (2020), The Prom - Sklar/Beguelin/Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emma centric, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifthebookdoesntsell/pseuds/ifthebookdoesntsell
Summary: For the longest time, Emma couldn’t think of anything worse than never growing up.She wanted to be older, wanted to change, to be able to drive a car, to order a drink at the bar like her pop.But as time goes on, she begins to understand the fear that comes with age, begins to feel the very weight ofbecomingheavier on her shoulders than anybody else.One day, there’s nobody to hold her. One day, she clutches herself in the dark, kicks the sheets off her bed like she’s five years old, hoping it’s all a nightmare, that somebody will whisk into the room and sweep her up in their arms.Nobody does.And just like that, so forcefully, so quickly, Emma understands the concept of wasted youth, wishes she could talk to her younger self, tell her to take it slow.Just like that, the story of Peter Pan makes sense.Just like that, Emma wonders if growing up is a worthwhile endeavor afterall.(Or, Emma had to grow up too fast. Or, a character study of Emma Nolan.)
Relationships: Alyssa Greene/Emma Nolan, Emma Nolan & Emma Nolan's Grandmother (The Prom Musical)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 54





	my god, this reminds me (of when we were young)

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! back again. here's something that's been on my mind for awhile that i've been working on for the past couple of days. this is one way i view emma-- obviously there are so many lenses that you can look at her through-- and i thought i'd try my hand at actually writing it at. 
> 
> you can listen to a playlist for this fic **[here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6HQ5oNqCk9iURmU1YbNSk5?si=qllkS2fASWWjHaoK6fZYGg)**
> 
> this _is_ canon compliant, and it tackles her childhood and how she grew up, so know that before you start reading. 
> 
> it was honestly quite cathartic to write this, so i hope that you enjoy! 
> 
> (fic title from when we were young by adele.)

For the longest time, Emma couldn’t think of anything worse than never growing up. 

She _wanted_ to be older, wanted to change, to be able to drive a car, to order a drink at the bar like her pop. 

But as time goes on, she begins to understand the fear that comes with age, begins to feel the very weight of _becoming_ heavier on her shoulders than anybody else. 

One day, there’s nobody to hold her. One day, she clutches herself in the dark, kicks the sheets off her bed like she’s five years old, hoping it’s all a nightmare, that somebody will whisk into the room and sweep her up in their arms. 

Nobody does. 

And just like that, so forcefully, so quickly, Emma understands the concept of wasted youth, wishes she could talk to her younger self, tell her to take it slow. 

Just like that, the story of Peter Pan makes sense. 

Just like that, Emma wonders if growing up is a worthwhile endeavor afterall. 

***

“Night, kiddo.” Emma’s father kisses her on the forehead, placing the storybook he was reading back on the shelf.

“I’m not tired,” Emma complains. She’s a whole six years old. She doesn’t need a dumb bedtime. 

“You have school tomorrow,” her father warns, but he leans in closer. “Your mom is going to fall asleep soon. She’s taking a big business trip! Maybe I can sneak back in here and we can watch a movie?” 

Emma nods at him vigorously. 

He smiles. There’s a kindness at the corners of his eyes. 

This version of Emma doesn’t know how much she should cherish such a look. 

“I’ll come wake you,” he promises. “Scary or funny?”

Emma looks at him, all three feet of her indignant. “Is that even a question?”

“So scary, then,” he laughs. 

“Yep!” Emma nods again, grinning at him toothily, one of the front ones missing. 

“Alright.” He presses a finger to his lips. “But for now, close your eyes, baby.” He kisses his finger and then boops her nose. 

Emma giggles. “Goodnight, Pop.” 

He winks. “Goodnight, Em. I love you.” 

***

Emma’s father sneaks in most Sunday nights to watch movies. That is, until Emma’s mom finds out and puts her daughter’s bedtime back into strict following. 

Before that, though, they have some good times, despite the fact that halfway through Emma will always have to tuck her face into his chest whenever there’s a jump scare. 

_“Tell me when it’s over,”_ she always mumbles, breathing in the soft laundry scent of his t-shirt. 

“Okay,” he never fails to murmur in reply before kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”

In those moments, Emma always believed him, felt so lucky that she’d always have a father who would protect her from scary things. 

***

Emma is twelve when she thinks she might not be like everybody else.

She’s thirteen when she knows for sure that something is different about her, and already, she has a sour note in the back of her throat that tells her to shove the thought back where it came. 

Over the years, she’s gone to church with her family, heard every sermon under the sun about sinful behavior, about abstinence, about repentance. 

And yet, Emma can’t help her thoughts in the middle of the night. They’ve been happening for a few years now: little voices in her head that tell her she feels about girls the way she’s supposed to feel about boys. 

But now, she finally has a word for it: _gay._

Her father had used it as an insult before, and she’d heard it around school used the same way, and finally, when Emma gets a phone, she looks it up. 

Private browsing on, of course. 

As soon as she reads it, she heads down an internet rabbithole, boxes checking in her brain as it comes clear that this is what she is. 

_Gay._

Emma Nolan is gay, a lesbian, which is another word that applies to her, according to the internet. 

She tries out the words in the dark, at a whisper, into the microphone of her cell phone, plays it back in her ears as many times as it takes until it feels comfortable, until she’s sure, until she isn’t afraid.

Well, that’s a lie. 

Emma is terrified. 

She tries to convince herself that she isn’t. 

But even hearing the words a thousand times, at different volumes, even melodically whispered, does nothing for her. 

Emma snorts at the thought that one day, when she’s a famous songwriter, she’ll have to tell Vanity Fair that her first song only had four words in it, and two of them were her name. 

That eases some of the tightness in her chest. 

She isn’t afraid. 

She just can’t tell anybody. 

There’s a difference. 

_Yeah._

There’s a difference. 

***

_How to kiss a girl._

Emma doesn’t know why she looks it up. 

It’s not like there’s anybody in Edgewater _to_ kiss. 

Still, some part of her can’t help but hope, can’t help but think that someday, somebody will want to kiss her, will assume that she already knows how. 

The WikiHow is grossly heteronormative-- she learned the word in English class-- but she keeps that, like most everything that’s been turning inside her, to herself. 

***

“I’m only fourteen, Pop,” Emma laughs when her father hands her the keys in the middle of the empty Walmart parking lot. 

“The parking attendant doesn’t need to know that,” the man laughs, shoving her playfully to get out of the passenger’s side and switch with him. 

She rolls her eyes but does as he says, putting up her hair, which regrettably remains long since her mom won’t let her cut it, as she rounds the back of the car. 

“The gas pedal is on the right,” her father tells her once they’ve both buckled in. 

“I know, Old Man,” Emma teases. “I’ve played Mario Kart.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I had to make sure!” He looks at her expectantly. “Okay, now, slowly press down.” 

Emma does as he says, and the car jolts to life. She steers carefully, doing a circle around the parking lot before braking back in the spot they started. 

“You’re a natural!” Pop laughs. “I knew you took after me.” 

Warmth spreads through Emma’s chest. She loves her dad. She loves making him proud. 

He smiles at her, crow’s feet beside his eyes ever present. “Mom was an awful driver when we met.” He pauses. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

She nudges him. “Of course not.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

Emma smiles back. She can’t wait to get her license, can’t wait to show her mom what she learned. 

The voice that urges her to tell the truth still rings in the back of her head, but she ignores it. 

_Not yet._

She’d rather cherish this moment, rather fake a swerve that makes her dad yelp and hold onto the handle and mumble _asshole_ under his breath. 

This is the first time a fight takes place inside Emma.

This is the first time her heart tugs on both ends, part of her eager to grow up and the other praying that things could stay exactly like this. 

***

“Do you like any boys?” Kaylee asks one time when they’re hanging out. 

It’s funny, since just today, Emma found out what it is to like somebody for the very first time. 

It’s a little late in the game. She’s already fifteen. 

But Alyssa Greene is her lab partner in chemistry. 

She has been for two weeks, now. 

And after school today, she’d waved and said hello before heading to cheerleading practice. 

It wasn’t even a huge thing.

But nobody really acknowledges her at James Madison as is, and Alyssa had asked _her_ if she wanted to be partners-- 

“Not right now,” Emma answers. It’s not a lie. 

She doesn’t like any boys. 

She likes Alyssa, likes her so much that Alyssa could point to any star and give it a name and Emma would believe her, likes her so much that Alyssa could pick her favorite color for her, could look at her and tell her what she is, and Emma wouldn’t mind at all. 

She recalls the soft brown of Alyssa’s eyes, the confidence in her walk, the tentative nature of her movements in chemistry. 

Yeah, no.

Emma doesn’t like any boys. 

***

Sixteen is the year that everything goes to hell. 

Slowly, she’s started to hang out with Alyssa more. 

It’s been five months of careful friendship, of finding somewhere to eat lunch together, of gentle hand touches under the table and even more discreet smiles. 

The secrecy of it absolutely maddens Emma, and it also makes her feel so inexplicably alive in a way that she’s never known before. 

Today, her pulse races even quicker than normal. 

Alyssa is wearing Emma’s extra t-shirt-- she blew up some peanut brittle in the lab, so she needed something to wear-- and even as she blushes as she eats her lunch, Emma finds she may be the most beautiful creature on Earth. 

Emma’s heart hops into her throat at the thought. 

Warmth rushes through her. 

And as hard as she’s tried to keep it to herself, there’s a happiness that’s taken hold in her chest that’s so obvious even Alyssa can see it. 

“What?” She flushes harder as she looks over at Emma. 

“Nothing,” Emma answers quickly. 

“Are you sure?” Alyssa looks down at herself, drowning in Emma’s top. “I know. I look silly--” 

“It’s not that,” Emma interrupts. She doesn’t know how to tell her it’s the exact opposite. She doesn’t know how to tell her that seeing her in her clothes makes everything inside her turn in flip in every way she never knew it could. “It’s nothing. I promise.”

It’s not nothing. 

It isn’t. 

Because in this moment, in the band closet, sat on the linoleum floor with music shelved all along the wall across from them with innocence, purity, adoration drenching every bit of air between them, Emma falls irrevocably in love with Alyssa Greene. 

And there’s nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ that she wants to, or can, do about it. 

***

Emma has a new pep in her step when she heads home.

“Good day, Em?” her father teases from where he’s reading the paper. 

She freezes. This could be it. 

It’s time. 

She laughs and nods. 

He smiles back at her, putting his paper down as if he senses a shift. 

Her dad loves her. 

This won’t change things. 

That’s what she tells herself, anyway. 

It’s not the truth. It’s a prayer. 

“Pop,” she begins slowly, adjusting her glasses. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like if I wanted to start dating?”

His eyes fill with amusement and curiosity; Emma savors the look in this moment, knows that it may be the last time she ever is the recipient of such a gaze. “Well, I would have to meet the lucky guy who stole your heart, first, and then we’d go from there.” He grins at her. “Why? Who is he, Em?”

Emma quivers. She squeezes her eyes shut. 

“What if…” She looks up at him. It’s becoming difficult to breathe. “What if it wasn’t a he?”

Pop’s face falls all at once. 

And in that moment, Emma knows she lost him. 

***

A standoff takes place. 

Emma thinks that maybe if her mother hadn’t forced it all so quickly, her dad might have come around. 

Instead, they watch her pack, and for the first time, Emma feels like she’s suffocating under her parents’ gaze. 

She looks at her bed-- well, it isn’t hers any longer-- and everything else in the room, remembering her young self, remembering staying up past bedtime with her dad, watching horror movies, tucking her face into his shoulder when it all got too much. 

She wonders who she’s supposed to turn to in this moment, wonders how so quickly the man who protected her from every ounce of fear in her life became the one she feared most. 

Her eyes skate over the room. Nothing here is hers. 

Not anymore. 

She does one last look in her drawers, finds an old pen cap that can be discarded, a few polaroids from over the years. She looks so much younger. 

Carefree. 

Unburdened. 

She studies her face, traces the freckles that have since faded from her skin, shoves it into the front of her bag while her parents watch, while her grandmother waits just outside the door. 

Gran is taking her in. 

She still loves her.

It brings enough comfort that Emma forces herself not to break, not while in her bedroom, not in front of the people who were supposed to love her who have since become strangers. 

She stops when she flips to another in the stack. 

The caption, written in messy, eighth grade handwriting reads _family._

Emma places it aside. 

These people aren’t her family anymore. 

Family is supposed to love her unconditionally, is supposed to give her dating advice when she admits that she fell for a girl, is supposed to hold her tight when she starts to cry. 

Family isn’t supposed to pick and choose, isn’t supposed to decide which parts of her they’ll love and which parts they won’t. 

She doesn’t say any of that, though. 

Instead, she steels herself, forces her tears to remain unshed as she lifts her head high. 

They won’t get the satisfaction of breaking her. 

Emma Nolan is unbreakable. 

At least, that’s how she wants them to remember her. 

She grabs the polaroid from the desk and shoves it against the chest of the man in the doorway. She doesn’t know him anymore. 

He’s not the father she knew. 

“Here,” she snaps. “Keep it. I don’t want it.” 

There’s so much else she wants to say. 

There’s so much else that she wishes she knew how to. 

_You shouldn’t have had me,_ she wants to cry. _I wanted to be just like you! What happened to us, Pop? What am I missing?_

He stares at her. His eyes are melancholy, liquid, almost, in their shielded regret. 

Instead, Emma doesn’t say a word. 

Instead, she mourns her young self, the one who made fun of Peter Pan who never grew up, the one who would have given anything to be fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, old enough to make her own choices. 

Instead, she watches the ghost of seven-year-old Emma grin at her and wave as she walks away from everything that used to be home, remembers how leaving was always a thought that fascinated her. 

It hits her square in the chest that perhaps her fixation on running was really only a desire to be found. 

For a moment, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes one last breath of this place, of this house that is no longer home. 

She doesn’t hug anybody goodbye. 

She doesn’t utter another word. 

She bounds down the stairs, tries to keep enough spring in her step that her parents will always wonder if she was glad to be departing. 

***

 _“Gran,”_ Emma whimpers, as soon as they’re upstairs, room freshly painted and bed pushed to the middle of the room just like it was in her room at her parents’ house. 

As it turns out, Emma Nolan is completely breakable. 

As it turns out, falling apart is so much easier than keeping yourself together. 

As it turns out, growing up fucking sucks, because Emma just learned the hard way that _growing up_ is just another way of saying _disappointing people._

Her knees wobble, and Betsy hushes her, grabbing her around the middle before she can fall. 

Emma trembles, breathes in the flowery mix of Gran’s perfume and laundry detergent. She feels ten again, recalls coughing dramatically at the expensive scent. That moment feels centuries ago, now. Emma can’t help but feel she’s aged decades in a matter of hours. 

Right now, she cannot shake the feeling that all she’s made up of is heartbreak and memory, nothing more, nothing less. All she is held together by is pain, by this white heat that rushes through her and cauterizes every open wound inside into angry scars. 

It hurts. 

_It hurts._

She whimpers again, tears clogging every breath. 

“I know, Emma,” her grandmother murmurs, rubbing a hand through her hair gently. “I know. I’ve got you.” 

***

After three days of lying in her new bed and channeling her best four year old self any time her grandmother asks if she wants anything to eat, the person that finally gets Emma out of bed is Alyssa. 

As always, Gran comes by, knocking softly on the door as not to startle her granddaughter. 

“No thank you,” Emma already says, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, then,” her grandmother starts dryly. “I guess I should tell that nice Alyssa girl to go back home even though I just told her she could come upstairs to see you with the cookies she brought.” 

Emma whips herself forward, sitting up and grabbing her glasses from the bedside table. “What?”

Gran smiles. “There’s a nice girl who’s downstairs. She said she was worried since you haven’t been coming to school, and she heard some things at church.”

Emma studies Gran to make sure there’s no fibbing going on-- lately, she’s been making the joking excuse that she can lie whenever she’d like since she’s getting older-- and when she determines that it’s nothing but the truth, she looks down at herself. 

“I look terrible.”

“So I was right in assuming that this is the girl you’re in love with, then,” Betsy observes. 

“Gran!” Emma gapes. “Don’t say so out loud! She’s just downstairs!”

Her grandmother shrugs. “Honey, by the way she was looking, she feels the same way.” Her eyes soften. “Besides, I’m glad that you have another gay friend.”

“I don’t even know if she’s--!” Emma hisses. 

“To me, she seems pretty--”

“Gran!” 

Betsy snorts. “I’m right. I know how a girl looks at someone she loves. It comes with age.”

Emma looks at her skeptically, unsure if there’s truth to the statement but not saying anything about it. If that’s the case, she sure has a whole lot to learn. 

She hopes it isn’t too obvious how she feels about Alyssa. 

Running a hand through her hair, Emma groans. “Can you stall her for a few minutes? I need to get myself together.”

Gran nods. “Of course.”

***

“I missed you,” Alyssa tells her quietly. 

They’re sat beside each other on the carpet, chocolate chip cookies between them. 

“Yeah,” Emma says awkwardly. 

She’s unsure what else to say. She doesn’t know what Alyssa has heard, what she will hear, if she’ll be scared off the minute she really knows the truth--

“I went to church yesterday.” Alyssa draws her knees up to her chest, looking over at her shyly. “I heard what happened with your parents.”

“What did you hear?” Emma asks. She has to know. 

She has to know if Alyssa is here as a friend for real, has to know if she’s going to lose her just like everybody else, has to know if loss is really something that comes with age, and if so, how many more people are there that will leave?

“People…” Alyssa blushes. “People are saying things, Emma.”

“What things?” 

Emma knows. She knows what things. But she wants to hear Alyssa say it. 

Silence hanging heavy between them. It’s thick with simultaneous innocence, desire, and regret. 

Hazel eyes prompt Alyssa to go on. 

_Tell me. It’s okay._

“They’re saying that you’re gay,” the girl finally breathes. “And… that your parents didn’t want you at their house because of it.” 

Alyssa stutters in her movements. She looks so fragile, innocent, small, even, when she looks away. There’s a childish secretiveness about this moment, as if they’re fifth graders sharing quiet confessions beneath the playground. 

Emma can’t help it as she basks in it, can almost imagine the light dancing across Alyssa’s face as they hide beneath the tall slide from the other kids, talking quietly, She wishes that in this moment nothing else mattered except each other’s newest gossip about who likes who, newest supposed untold stories.

”Well, it’s true,” she eventually states. She waits for Alyssa to run. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she links their pinkies. 

Emma shudders at the sudden contact. 

She hasn’t let anybody touch her since she broke in her grandmother’s arms four days ago, and it makes her insides turn upside down. She isn’t sure if it’s because it’s Alyssa and Alyssa is pretty and so obviously cares, or maybe she just needs more hugs, but either way, it makes her tremble. 

“Your parents suck,” Alyssa mumbles quietly, batting the container of cookies out of the way and scooting over so she can lean on Emma’s shoulder. “They suck majorly.”

Emma’s lips twitch. 

She shouldn’t say it. 

_Don’t say it--_

“I don’t think they’ve had sex in years.”

Alyssa practically headbutts her in her laughter at that. 

It makes Emma’s heart settle inside her chest slightly. The sound of Alyssa’s laugh alone convinces her that maybe everything will be okay. 

“You did not just say that,” Alyssa finally gasps, eyes still bright as she looks over at Emma. 

“I’m just stating facts.” Emma grins back at her, lightness spreading through her in a way that she hasn’t felt in longer than she can remember. 

Ever since she realized something was different about her, there’s been a weight rested heavy on her back, but now--

Now, with Alyssa’s cheek rested on her shoulder, a cookie in her mouth, and whispers of how they can make life extremely, annoyingly inconvenient for all the homophobes in town without getting caught, Emma finds that she’s truly herself for the first time in years, finds that she feels seen, _known._

Alyssa makes the terror of growing up stay quiet for the moment, makes her feel as though time is freezing in its movements, though not forcing them back at all to when they didn’t know themselves. 

Instead, there’s only this moment, this room, this gentle softness, and the whole world-- every insult, every judgement-- melts away. 

***

Alyssa kisses Emma, and it’s the first time she can remember really knowing what it’s like to be a giddy teenager. 

The only time she ever feels like the world is happily quiet is when she’s with Alyssa, but there’s something different about being kissed, about being pressed hip to hip with somebody who wants it, who means it, who knows everything she is and still craves her anyway. 

Sure, she’s had moments of calm with Alyssa, wrapped beneath blankets, some bad rom-com playing in the back, or holding her close if they’re watching a horror film. 

Emma grew out of her phase of being afraid of the gore, but Alyssa never did, it seems, because, just like when Emma was young, Alyssa will squeeze her eyes shut and beg to be told when it’s over. 

The innocence of it makes Emma’s heart speed every time, always makes her fall a little harder for Alyssa. 

She thought it was the thing that’s her favorite about Alyssa. 

How wrong she was. 

Because now, Alyssa is kissing her, shy and pretty in the backyard, swinging in the hammock she and Gran had put up a few days ago. 

Alyssa’s hand is on her cheek, holding her so gentle, as if Emma is the most delicate creature in the whole world. 

In this moment, Emma feels like she is, feels soft and broken and carefully glued back together all at once. 

Alyssa presses closer, curious, sweet, humming when Emma finally comes to her sense and realizes what’s happening. 

Giddily, Emma can’t help but think that Alyssa tastes exactly how she thinks hope would. She tastes a bit like the Sour Patch Kids they were sharing, a bit like lightning, a bit like comfort. 

Emma squeezes her eyes shut, trying to memorize, trying to trace every detail she can. 

And then, as quick as it started, it’s over. 

“I am so sorry,” Alyssa tells her so quickly. “I didn’t mean--” 

“Why are you sorry?” Emma asks, feeling a little dumb. All her thoughts are of Alyssa, of the sweetness of her lipgloss, of the gentleness of her touch. 

“I didn’t ask you if I could kiss you before I did!” Alyssa exclaims. “That’s like, the first and only rule of consent--”

“I’ve been wanting you to kiss me for a whole year, Alyssa,” Emma laughs. “Trust me. That was very much consensual.” 

“A whole year?” Alyssa replies, a small smile on her face. 

“Well, yeah.” Emma blushes, scratching the back of her neck. “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time.”

“You had a crush on me?” the girl teases. 

Emma gapes. “You kissed me!”

“But you had a crush!” 

Emma pouts. “You kissed me, Alyssa!” 

Alyssa giggles. “Still!” 

Emma rolls her eyes affectionately. Alyssa leans against her as the sun starts to set. 

And finally, Emma’s youth doesn’t feel wasted, is something she’d wish to stay in for just another moment if this is what it could feel like until it is one day officially over. For so long, she thought it gone, but now, with Alyssa’s hand in hers, sugar sticky love still sitting tenderly on her lips, she feels just young enough that she can remember what it is to have a little hope. 

***

“Brake!” Emma yelps. “Brake!”

“I am! Calm down!” Alyssa replies. 

They’re in the Walmart parking lot. It’s a perfect, clear night, and most everybody is at the basketball game, but somehow, they’d both managed to get out of it. 

Emma is determined not to think about the time she was taught to drive in this same spot. 

Alyssa slams the brake. 

Emma lurches. “Remind me why I like you?” she grumbles. 

“I’m cute.” Alyssa grins at her, pretty and happy. 

Emma softens immediately before she narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re a menace.”

“A cute menace,” her girlfriend amends. 

“Of course,” Emma laughs. She hears her father’s voice quiet in the back of her head, a comforting version of him that she pulls out late at night and early in the morning before her world caves in as reality descends back over her, when she teases: “You do know which pedal is the brake and which is the gas, right?”

Alyssa’s jaw drops open slightly indignantly. “Babe!”

“It’s an honest question!” 

***

Emma’s never felt nearly as much for anybody as she does for Alyssa. 

She didn’t even _know_ it was possible to feel this much. 

It’s impossible to deny it, though. 

Like now, Alyssa’s face is tucked into her neck, sleeping after a long day of debate, cheerleading, and student council.

They were supposed to watch a movie, but halfway through, dark eyes had started to droop, and Emma had just leaned a little closer, not saying a word as Alyssa rested against her. Instead, she’d just massaged the back of her head, smiled when her girlfriend relaxed further, humming softly before she gently fell into slumber. 

Now, Emma’s scrolling through her phone, keeping still so that Alyssa can grab a few moments of rest. 

She smiles, looking down softly, heart practically bursting as Alyssa’s hand unconsciously tightens in the front of her shirt. Dark hair is falling wildly over one shoulder, and Emma can’t help but think that this is one of her favorite versions of Alyssa that she gets to see. She cares for all of them in different ways, but the trust of _this_ Alyssa, the Alyssa who knows that Emma will always protect her as she dreams, as she descends into slumber, makes Emma more sure of what’s between them than she ever thought possible. 

This is love. 

Emma knows it, sleepy herself at the feeling of her girlfriend’s solid, comfortable, familiar weight on top of her. She hasn’t felt so safe herself in anybody else’s arms in so long. Drowsiness hits her at that, and for once, Emma doesn’t fight it, feels secure enough to shut her eyes. 

Just this once, her dreams aren’t filled with what could have been, aren’t populated by the Emma of the past, by her parents. Instead, she dreams of the future, of Alyssa, of knowing a love like this for the rest of her life. 

Instead, she dreams of luck, of gentle nights just like this, of finally being free of the burdens of Edgewater, Indiana, of finally being herself and nobody else. 

Instead, for the very first time in years, Emma can’t wait to grow up, if it means doing so with Alyssa.

***

There are a thousand ways to say I love you without saying it, Emma has found. 

She’s been dancing around it for weeks, trying to find the perfect moment, catching herself before she can mess it up, but when it does come out, she feels so, so stupid for worrying. 

She drives them out for date night, past where the town ends so they can watch the stars in peace. 

Emma did research on when the stars would be brightest, but she still sweats slightly, nervous as they start to rise in the sky, as she hands over two tacos to Alyssa before pulling out her own. 

They’re sat on the edge of the bed of the pickup, feet dangling, and Emma would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a cosmic shift in this moment. 

She looks over at Alyssa— whose eyes seem brighter than all of the stars combined— and she can’t find a reason in the whole world to complain. The world always feels easy with Alyssa, but now, Emma can’t name a time in recent memory where she’s felt more carefree than this. 

She studies Alyssa further, finds comfort in the familiarity of her features. 

She knows this girl, knows where her scars are and what hurts her, knows her middle name and her biggest fear. She knows her favorite food and what makes her tick and what makes her laugh and even just the little things like how when she was a kid, Alyssa’s favorite pair of socks was one time separated in the wash and so her father bought her a dozen pairs like it so that it would never happen again. 

Emma knows everything. 

And she knows she’s in love, irrevocably, to the point that it’s terrifying. But then, Alyssa looks at her, and everything— all that she had planned to say— rushes from her mind faster than she can figure out how to hold onto it. 

Alyssa is pretty and _good,_ and Emma suddenly doesn’t know how she compares. Alyssa looks at her, lashes fluttering, eyes filled with mirth as if she too knows this is as big of a moment as it can get, but Emma suddenly doesn’t have the words to describe how she feels. 

Her heart plays hopscotch inside of her chest, does the monkey bars on her ribs and runs a marathon all in a matter of seconds as she does her best to collect herself, as she reminds herself that _she’s almost seventeen, goddammit_ , that she can and should handle her emotions as such. 

Clearly, she isn’t doing such a good job, because Alyssa grins at her and grabs her hand. 

For a moment, there’s silence. 

For a moment, Emma is reminded of laughable middle school dances where the boys and girls spent the whole night on opposite sides of the room, both too scared to ask anybody to dance. 

“You can say it, you know,” Alyssa finally mumbles, blushing and looking away. “I mean, if you want to.” 

Emma’s pulse stutters. She tries to take a deep breath. 

Alyssa knows. 

She knows that she--

“Do you want me to say it?” Emma blurts out. She feels childish asking, but she needs to know. 

Alyssa’s lips twitch. 

“Why on Earth wouldn’t I want you to say it?” 

Emma’s eyes widen. She adjusts her glasses; _Alyssa wants her to say it._ She gathers herself once more. _Say it like you mean it, Nolan_ , she thinks to herself, glancing up at the stars for strength before she squeezes Alyssa’s hand in hers and turns to her fully, knowing how momentous, how defining, how important, this is.

“I love you, Alyssa.” 

There’s a relief to it the second the words are out of her mouth, like the weight of her not-so-secret secret is finally lifted from her shoulders. She waits for Alyssa to say it back, waits for her heart to jump out of her chest. 

“I love you too, Emma.” 

It feels like everything, and at the same time not at all like she thought. Her heart doesn’t jump. It settles, sits quiet and solemn in her chest as it takes in what this all means. She’s never loved somebody, not consciously, not enough to say so aloud, to do so in a way that felt important, felt infinite. 

And Alyssa loves her too. She knows how big that is. She grasps her hand tighter. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Alyssa rolls her eyes, already leaning forward slightly. “Are you seriously asking that right now?” 

Emma doesn’t answer, takes it as an invitation as she sweeps Alyssa up in her arms, practically tackles her, mind simultaneously flying back to their first kiss and imagining every single one she’ll have the pleasure of experiencing in the future. 

***

“Would you like to go?” Alyssa asks, lying on her back beside Emma. 

Prom is coming up. Senior prom. 

Their last chance to be together in Edgewater for everybody to really see. 

“I don’t have to, not if you’re not ready,” Emma answers quickly, head lolling to the side lazily so her gaze can trace Alyssa’s profile. 

She smiles when her girlfriend does the same, their eyes meeting. 

“That isn’t what I asked,” Alyssa murmurs. There’s a barely concealed fear in her eyes, a hopefulness, too. It’s a difficult balance for Emma to understand. 

Instead, she just answers the question. 

“It would be nice.” She shrugs. “Or it could be lame. I think I’d like to go… just for what it would mean for us.”

Alyssa nods carefully. She blushes. “I’d like to go too. I just don’t know how my mom--“ 

“That’s why I said we don’t have to,” Emma interrupts. She reaches for Alyssa’s hand that’s laid between them. “I don’t want anything to happen.” 

Dark eyes fill with a weary, worried sort of love. 

“Are you sure?” Alyssa swallows hard, tears suddenly brimming. She looks away. “Are you sure you’d really be okay with that? I’ve made you give up so much! I’ve taken so much from you--“ 

“Hey.” Emma shakes her head, gently turning Alyssa’s face back towards her with two fingers beneath her chin. “Don’t talk like that.” 

“It feels unfair to you,” Alyssa admits. “I feel like I’m an awful girlfriend.” 

“You’re not!” Emma’s brow furrows. “Not at all! Coming out is scary,” she assures. “As the one of the two of us who’s done it, trust me.” 

Alyssa rolls her eyes at Emma who stares at her with a fake, exaggerated sort of sageness. 

“I still wish I could give you more.” 

Emma smiles softly. This is all so Alyssa, to want to take responsibility for everything, to be so loving. 

Thumbing over her cheek softly, Emma shakes her head again. “You’ve given me so much, ‘Lys. And I love you for it.” She relishes the way Alyssa blushes at the words before she continues. “I’m not going to ask for anything more. That would be unfair to _you.”_ She kisses the tip of her nose. “So how about this: we think about it.” Emma inches closer until she can tangle her legs with Alyssa reassuringly. “We decide if it’s worth it. If it is, then we really commit. If it isn’t, we drop it, have a night in.” She squeezes Alyssa’s hand. “Either way, I’ll be happy, as long as you’re really sure when you tell me your decision.” 

Alyssa kisses her at that. “You know how much I love you?” she mumbles into it. 

Emma grins. “You’ve told me a few times.” She reciprocates, though, despite her smugness, relishing in the familiar shock that runs through her, finds home in the soft sweetness of Alyssa’s lips. 

“You really mean what you said, though?” Alyssa asks into her mouth as she rolls them over so she’s on top. 

“Of course I do,” Emma promises. 

And she really, _really_ does. 

Come what may, whether they can go to prom or not, whether Alyssa comes out anytime soon or not, Emma knows that she loves her so fully, so adoringly, so much that it makes her feel immortal and finite all at once. 

Emma finds she wouldn’t mind growing old with Alyssa, and somehow, she makes her feel young, too, the young version of herself that she never got to be. 

They are endgame. However they end up getting there. 

And one day, all of this will be for a reason, every bit of pain, every bit of patience, every stolen moment, will be worthwhile, will lead to something greater. 

One day, Emma Nolan and Alyssa Greene will have grown up. 

One day, Peter Pan will be a story that they still long for, though in a different way. Maybe they’ll be reading it to their children, their grandchildren, soft smiles on their faces. 

Because one day, in a moment so quick, maybe in five years from now or fifty, Emma Nolan will realize she found her Neverland in Alyssa Greene.

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! thanks for reading! i hope that you liked it. if you did, consider dropping me a comment/kudo down below to let me know! i love talking to y'all. 
> 
> as always, if you wanna chat some more you can find me on tumblr @ifthebookdoesntsell. my askbox is always open for whatever you've got on your mind. 
> 
> be safe out there x


End file.
